


Sleepest or Wakest Thou

by Fyre



Series: Desire Increase [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Literal Sleeping Together, Sauntering gently towards intimacy, waking together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are trying new things.Wherein an angel and a demon wake up together
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Desire Increase [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784770
Comments: 28
Kudos: 190





	Sleepest or Wakest Thou

Morning comes far too soon.

Not that it normally bothers Crowley, but this time is an exception. He’s never woken up with an angel in his arms before. Hell, they’d never even really been able to sleep in close proximity until Aziraphale took ownership of the bookshop and Crowley discovered the couch was a perfect fit to doze on.

The miracle of it all is that Aziraphale is actually sleeping. Crowley barely got a wink, too caught up in watching over him, drinking in every little breath, every shift of his face and – as he really should have expected – the resonant rumble of his snores. It vibrates through him, rattling its way through Crowley’s chest, like the purr of an extremely large and cuddly cat.

It’s tempting to pull all the drapes and shut them in darkness, keeping the day at bay and Aziraphale safe and sleepy and _here_.

But there’s something about the faint gold of early morning light as it creeps into the room and gently illuminates the angel’s peaceful face. He’s smiling in his sleep and the butter-gold glow suits him, making him shine against the black sheets and pillows. And on his nightcap, because the daft thing is still on his pale curls.

It’s ridiculous, Crowley thinks, how much he loves him.

He props his cheek on his knuckles, his other hand still snugly pressed to Aziraphale’s chest, and just watches. Watches as the daylight lengthens its touch and the first creases return to Aziraphale’s serene face, a faint frown as the light brightens.

When his lashes open, he squints around, clearly disorientated.

“Morning,” Crowley murmurs.

The split-second of confusion turning to joy is one that he’ll cherish, even more when Aziraphale shifts onto his back to look up at him, eyes bright. “It’s morning! I slept!”

Crowley loves him too much. Can’t be normal. “You did.”

The angel gives a happy wiggle right where he is. “How lovely!”

And they’re lying there, just as if it’s completely normal. As if they’ve done this before. And Crowley’s hand is still on the warmth of Aziraphale’s chest, the steady throb of his corporation’s heart like a drumbeat against Crowley’s palm.

“How d’you feel?” he inquires, cautiously moving his hand in a circle, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs, the soft swell of his belly.

Aziraphale’s hand covers his and for a second, he thinks he was being a bit too keen with the… well… not staying still and waiting. Then the angel smiles and squeezes his fingers. “Rested,” he says, “and delightfully cosy.”

“Tch!” Crowley tries to hide his grin. “M’not _cosy_. Cosy is grandmothers and doddery and–”

“Here,” Aziraphale says, drawing Crowley’s hand back to his heart.

Crowley grumbles cheerfully, dropping his other arm and falling back down against the pillows to demonstrate how indignant and not-cosy he is. “You’re clearly confused,” he complains, acutely aware of Aziraphale’s fingertips tracking across his knuckles. “You’ve never done this before, so you can’t be sure what cosy is.”

Aziraphale’s chuckle rumbles under his palm. “I’m well aware of what cosy means.”

“Means and is are two different things,” Crowley insists, delighting in the helpless dimple curling in Aziraphale’s cheek as he tries to fight a smile.

“Well, did you or did you not cover me with yourself to keep me warm?”

Crowley squints at him, trying to process before caffeine. “Oi!”

“I’m fairly sure you did,” Aziraphale says blithely. “Very efficiently.”

“Are you saying I’m a sodding angel-cosy?” Crowley laughs, swatting at Aziraphale’s chest as much as his trapped hand can.

Innocent watercolour eyes meet his. “Well, you’re a little large to put on an egg, so if the demon fits…”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Crowley breaks first, crumpling down, shaking with laughter, against Aziraphale’s shoulder. It’s a different kind of pleasure to _feel_ the angel wiggle with pleasure, shoulder quivering against Crowley’s cheek.

“You’re such a cheeky bastard,” Crowley says and drops a kiss on his shoulder.

Aziraphale’s fingers tighten briefly on his and, in a fit of daring as he lifts his head, Crowley lets another kiss drop – feather-light – against Aziraphale’s cheek. Only fleeting and passing, but enough to make Aziraphale’s cheeks bloom pink.

Enough, he knows. Better not to push things too far.

“Breakfast?” he suggests.

Aziraphale looks at him in flushed amusement. “Do you _have_ food in the house?”

Crowley snorts dramatically to suggest it’s ridiculous to think that he wouldn’t. Even though he doesn’t. Because forward planning wasn’t really on the table last night. “What kind of host do you take me for?” he demands, as he scrambles to the far side of the bed, throwing the sheets back.

“The kind with no food in his house,” Aziraphale replies, stretching extravagantly as he sits up.

“Only because you invited yourself without warning,” he retorts and snaps his fingers.

Immediately, the scent of fresh coffee and toast wafts on the air and the bloody angel beams like all his Christmases have come at once.

“And bacon?” he suggests, shuffling around the end of the bed in the most ridiculous tartan slippers Crowley has ever seen, rimmed with fleecy wool cuffs.

“If I’m robbing the café across the way, let’s go all out,” Crowley says and with another snap of his fingers and a clatter of crockery, the variety of scents from the kitchen increase tenfold. “Happy now?”

The angel squeezes his hand in passing. “Infinitely,” he says happily, “though we will be popping over to the café later to compensate them for all their trouble.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, but he has a sneaking suspicion his idiotic grin is giving him away. “ _Fine_.”

And Aziraphale glows with happiness in the morning light.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Sleepest or Wakest Thou](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684158) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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